Bored in deep space - Novelisation -
Chapter 21 - Intermission (4)
The twenty minutes it took to navigate the final docking procedure were the longest twenty minutes of my life. The last three years had passed in a blur of isolation, conviction, and trauma that defied the normal flow of human timescale -- in fact, I'm still wrestling with the fact it's even been three years and not three weeks. These twenty minutes, however, were stretched thin by the agonising weight of anticipation, each second ticking by with the slowness of a melting glacier. From the chair in the faux-bridge, I watched the external viewport, our only true window to the outside world. The massive skeletal superstructure of the Way-Station swelled to fill the entire view. There was no more cosmos, just the wall of metal and machinery that seemed to have no end or beginning.
"Contact with docking clamp magnets in fifteen seconds," Marissa's calm, professional tone announced. "Structural integrity fields are compensating for minor gravitational shear. All systems are nominal."
I returned a nod, my eyes glued to the screen. Then, it happened. A seam appeared on the metal wall of the Spire-Delta ring. It was a colossal, perfectly geometric line that expanded into a vast, dark maw. The station was literally opening its mouth to receive us. The docking hangar below was a cavern of shadowy machines and skeletal gantries. Tama guided the Eclipse with the inhuman grace of a Silent Architect ship, coaxing our disguised, beat-up hauler into the designated slot as though she were parking a skiff in a garage.
A series of deep, resonant thumps echoed through the hull, the final, definitive contact of magnetic clamps taking hold. The ship let out a shuddering groan almost, a familiar, comforting sound of stressed metal settling. There was a slight quake that ran through the steel grating of the bridge, and then there was stillness.
"We are docked," Marissa stated. At the same time she made a gesture with her finger. "Artificial gravity has been equalised with the station's baseline. Local chronometre synched. Atmosphere is breathable. Captain, we have arrived."
"Hm," a small noise escaped me. "I… guess we have," I mumbled, still staring at the wall of the station.
I walked through the grating floor, my boots making a satisfying and nostalgic clang with every step. Marissa followed from behind like a shadow. We walked to the old, familiar main airlock of the SV-Eclipse I, the heavy circular hatch that I don't think I ever used. The first ship crashed, and after that I always had the second ship. She stood beside the door control, her hands clasped behind her back, a picture of patient service. The wall-mounted panel beside the hatch was a blocky, grey-metal box with a single, large, red button. The word 'RELEASE' was stencilled above it in faded, military-grade block lettering.
"Captain," Marissa said. Her new, human face was a convincing lie, but the orange light in her eyes remained Tama's. "Your vital signs are still elevated. I must formally advise that you proceed at a pace that is psychologically comfortable for you. There is no urgency."
"Yeah, I know," I responded. "This isn't the bad kind of anxiety; it's not the trauma-induced heart attack kind, it's the anxiety you get when you're a rookie employee about to give the CEOs a presentation. I'm fine." I breathed in. Four seconds. Then breathed out. Seven seconds. "I've done this hundreds of times."
I placed my palm flat against the centre of the red button. With a firm press, there was a loud, deafening hissss. A series of heavy, metallic latches disengaged with a cacophony of deep, powerful CLUNKS, culminating in the final, deafening clam as the heavy circular hatch unlocked.
I still couldn't wrap my head around all of this being an illusion -- a trick of the light. The door was a slab of metal. With a slow, powerful hydraulic sigh. It swung inward, granting me a view into a place that was, in its own way, more alien than anything I'd encounter on the dead planet of Astellion. The air that billowed in was different. It wasn't the sterile, synthesised stuff of the Eclipse, nor the dusty, electronic-smelling air of Astellion's superstructure. This was a lived-in aroma -- a complex mixture of recycled air, industrial lubricants, and a hundred other, unidentifiable scents from who knows how many people. It was the smell of a crowd.
I stepped across the threshold, my boots leaving the grating of the Eclipse for the solid, reinforced plating of the Way-Station docking floor. This was it. The moment of contact. I took another step into the cavernous docking bay. It was an open, gargantuan space, one so grand I couldn't properly see the ceiling. This wasn't the apocalyptic impossible, twisted architecture of Astellion. This was a functional space. Vast, yes. Cavernous, certainly. But it wasn't a tomb. The walls were a uniform shade of gunmetal grey, cut with harsh angles and deep, shadowy recesses. Huge, yellow and black chevron markings were painted across the floors and walls, directing the flow of traffic, marking off hazardous zones, and delineating walks for people and vehicles. The sheer scale of it made me feel insignificant. The very air felt heavy in my lungs, and my skin prickled with a subtle, constant pressure.
I glanced around. The docking hanger floor was less crowded than I'd expected, but still bustling with a low hum of activity. It was essentially just a gigantic parking space for spaceships, which was a more mundane description than the grandness conjured up by my lagging 21st century frame of reference. A handful of human maintenance crew in dull grey jumpsuits were gathered around a nearby ship's landing gear, working with plasma torches and diagnostic wands that emitted a soft, blue light. A small automated drone whizzed past on its designated path a few feet off the ground. In the distance, across the vast hangar floor, a large freight vessel was slowly being refueled by the automated arms.
I looked down at my own hands. I was real. This was real. They weren't looking at me. I wasn't the centre of the universe here; I was just another guy getting off a ship -- getting out of a car. It was… liberating.
Then, the station revealed its true nature. My eyes wandered beyond our little area, taking in the real scale of the place. We were a small toy in a big toy box. Parked in a dedicated service and security hangar a few hundred metres away, docked in a berth so colossal it made our F-97 slot look like a kennel, was a ship of such immense proportions it was hard to even process. It wasn't just large; it was a weapon. Its hull was a stark, angular grey, bristling with what could only be weapon batteries, missile pods, and rows of shimmering energy cannons. The ship's design wasn't built for quiet cargo hauling; it was designed to project pure, unadulterated power across star systems. I had seen pictures of battleships in my world, but seeing one in the flesh was a mind-altering experience.
"Captain," Tama's calm, human form appeared beside me. "I have cross-referenced your ocular focus. That is the 'Gilded Wasp'. An imperial Sovereign-Class Battlecruiser, on detached duty from the 4th fleet." She raised a single, delicate finger and flickered through empty air. In an instant, a holographic blueprint overlay of the colossal ship appeared in front of me, glowing in a faint, orange light. It was a perfect, three-dimensional schematic. "Approximately five kilometres. Eighty-four primary mass driver cannons. A full wing of 180 Viper starfighter craft. Crew complement of 12,000. Pilot Identification Code: 4A-TANGO-DELTA-886BF. Captain: Alexander Tuvol Apollyon. Vice-Captain: Jonathon Edel Fischer. Current orders: 'patrol a disputed trade route near the Fringe Territories'." She read off a list of classified military secrets and strategic data as if it was a travel itinerary.
I squinted. Rubbing my eyes. The raw ease in which she was able to produce all of that was stunning. And scary. "And, I'm assuming, they don't know you're in there, seeing all this. Reading their entire private manifest, like a book?"
"The ship's data signatures are heavily encrypted, but not against a computational power on this scale," Tama replied with a level tone.
"Also," I said quietly, my gaze still fixed on the warship. "You mentioned they were on a patrol. That seems a little… out of the way for an imperial battlecruiser, doesn't it? Out here in the Outer Territories." From what I was starting to understand about this galaxy, Tau Ceti Prime was considered a rural area. Not out in the hicks like the Fringe Territories, but a less travelled but still civilised space. And out in that slow, rural town, imagine if a warship parked right in its port.
I heard her sigh. For a synthetic lifeform, she was remarkably good at emulating human mannerisms.
"Another lie. Officially, the Gilded Wasp is here on the direct orders of the Imperial Convocation's Ministry of Security. The stated reason for their deployment is to suppress a particularly aggressive pirate syndicate that has been preying on civilian traffic in this sector."
"Talk about overkill," I said, the pieces clicking together faster than she could explain. Our big, parent corporate body for the company I worked for used to do the same thing. "It's the oldest trick in the book."
"An astute observation," Tama agreed. "The real reason is a public relations exercise. The Convocation has been facing mounting criticism and accusations of impotence from the Middle-Rim trade guilds and outer-territorial colonies. There's nothing better to reassure the common folk than a powerful warship making headlines with their successful military operation against big, scary pirates," she elaborated. "In short, it is an act of power projection. A spectacle. Nothing more."
"And just like back in my world, people see the big, powerful warship and fall for it," I scoffed. "Typical."
"Though less relevant, there is another data point of interest," Tama added, her seamless, analytical tone continuing the briefing. "The vessel's commanding officer, the man who authorised the port-call, has a secondary reason for his presence here at The First Step."
She flicked a finger again, this time a much smaller, more focused gesture. A new holographic window shimmered into existence, replacing the ship's schematic. This one was a personnel file, complete with a portrait.
The face looking back was the very image of aristocratic command. He was an exceedingly handsome man of inhuman grace, perhaps somewhere between his late twenties to early thirties. With light, perfectly groomed hair styled with severe precision, a sharp jawline, and eyes that were the colour of a warm ember. He wore a high-collared naval uniform of stark white and gold, not the combat-ready gear of a typical spacer. He didn't just command a ship; he looked like he commanded empires. There was a weary certainty etched around his eyes, the kind that comes from a life of never once being told 'no'.
"A Noble, I take it?"
"A ranking member, yes," Tama confirmed. "Captain Alexander Tuvol Apollyon. Heir to the Duke of House Apollyon. One of the Great Houses. Officially, his presence here as CO is to inspire confidence in the outer rim traders and ensure smooth cooperation between imperial forces and the guilds' security division." She paused, a deliberate beat. "Unofficially, it's a familial matter. Under direct order from his father, the Duke, Captain Apollyon is attempting to discreetly track down his younger sister, Adelina Tuvol Apollyon, better known as Adele in friendly circles." She flicked her wrist once more and made the projections disappear. "According to their internal communications, her last known location was here. Though, that was almost 200 cycles ago."
It felt a little weird to be prying into another family's affairs when my own should've been my primary concern. A faint metallic clang from a nearby work crew broke our hushed conversation, yanking my attention away from the warship and story of Nobility. My gaze drifted across the vast expanse of the docking bay, and it was then I saw another figure, one who wasn't just a human in a jumpsuit. My eyes stopped and I stopped walking. It was a person, but it… wasn't. Not a person from my species, at any rate. It was a… humanoid creature. It stops on an elevated platform overlooking the docking floor, like an eagle preying on mice. A security detail.
The creature was tall and imposing, even at a distance. A thick, leathery hide that looked… was reptilian. Its face had a flat, impassive look to it. It had the scaly face of a lizard and a heavy set of jaws that hid rows of sharp, serrated teeth. Its multifaceted eyes flowed with a sharp, intelligent look and had a burning red gleam to them. It was also flanked by a number of humans in official uniform, standing perfectly still as it surveyed the entire docking floor with a predator's calm patience. My brain tried and failed to put it into a familiar category. Lizardman? Dragonoid?
For a moment, it felt like we met eye-to-eye.
"Captain," Tama murmured beside me. She seemed to follow my train of thought and line of sight.
"Yeah?"
"You are observing a member of the Raccar. One of the four major, ruling species that make up this galaxy's dominant political and social sphere."
"An actual alien..." I shook my head. "No, wait, I guess I would be the alien from its perspective."
"Correct," Tama affirmed. "The Raccar are a reptilian species from the high-gravity desert world of Khar'aran. Their physiques and biology are a direct adaptation to their harsh native environment." Her explanation was clinical, like a nature documentary narrator. "As of the last galactic census, they account for approximately 9.7 percent of total sentient population. Alongside Humanity, the Illium, and the Nylards, they form what is known as the Celestial Quartet."
"Celestial Quartet, huh…" I repeated. "So they're the big guys. The big cheese."
"Due to their inherent physical resilience, tactical cunning, and unframed cultural emphasis on martial honour, they are often employed in roles that align with their strengths." She stopped for a beat. "Enforcers. Elite bodyguard. Mercenaries. Ship security."
I looked at the imposing, reptilian creature on the platform, and a term just rolled off my tongue. "Like the hired muscles of the galaxy?"
"A very primitive oversimplification, Captain," she coolly corrected. "Like humanity, their society and cultural practices are varied and complex. While many of them pursue careers in those fields, Raccar can also be found as accomplished starship pilots, engineers, artisans, and even philosophers."
I made another mental note: Don't call the giant lizards the hired muscle.
"There is, however, a pervasive myth within their culture that they descended from a great, space-faring race of beings known as Dragons," she added, almost as an afterthought.
Dragons. For the first few seconds I had to remind myself I wasn't in a roleplaying game or a fantasy novel. This was real.
"So, are… Dragons real?"
"I have accessed all available historical, mythological, and archeological records across the known galaxy, including the deep archives of the old machines on Astellion," Tama said. "There is no verifiable, empirical evidence of the existence of a sentient, space-faring draconic species."
"Right. So, it's just a myth, then." I was glad to have some certainty in my life. "That thing's wearing some heavy armour," I noted. Besides it's about, almost its entire body was encased in a black suit of armour, glowing with power, decorated with golden edges and what looked like clan symbols. It looked powerful, like one giant weapon, a walking fortress.
"Indeed. This one is likely contracted security, tasked with this hangar's protection. A Raccar warrior is worth a dozen human enforcers in direct confrontation." Her statement wasn't a boast, but a simple fact.
The sheer alienness of the creature, even from a distance, was beginning to sink in. It was just… so normal to see it there, leaning on that railing. For everyone else in this hangar, a reptilian humanoid from another planet was just another worker.
As I stood there, a loud, klaxon-like blare echoed through the hangar, followed by a calm, female voice from the station's public address system: "Transit Authority announcement. Public ferry service to Spire-Delta Observation Deck and the surface-shuttle hub now boarding at Gate 9. All passengers for Tau Ceti Prime, please proceed to Gate 9."
The message tanked my attention away from the Raccar and the warship. The reality of my situation came crashing back down. My uncle was waiting. I turned to Marissa, a question already on my lips. "I think that's for us, right? Gate 9."
She gave a short nod. "Correct. I have plotted the most efficient route. The route had an estimated travel time of eight minutes at a standard walking pace. The Promenade ahead may be congested," she warned.
"Right," I mumbled. And then we started walking, following the path illuminated by the floor accompanied by helpful glowing symbols and arrows. It was kind of like a video game.
Following the bright yellow and black chevrons on the floor, we approached the station's main transit hub. It was a strange, surreal experience for someone with my mental baggage. A public transport system. In space. It wasn't the sleek, silent glide of a magnet rail from some utopian sci-fi vision. It was a subway. A slightly cleaner, better-lit subway, perhaps, but a subway nonetheless, with the same sterile air, the same bored-looking crowd of commuters, and the same rumbling, screeching clatter as the massive carriage decelerated into the station with a series of lurches. I forced myself to act normal, to mimic the practiced indifference of the other passengers as we shuffled aboard, my hands shoved into the pockets of my clean, black, slightly expensive-looking suit Tama provided. Marissa stood beside me, her posture perfect, her gaze focused, a quiet, unshakeable pillar in the shifting sea of strangers. I focused on not staring, not gasping, not reacting like a yokel who'd just fallen off the turnip truck from another century.
The journey was a blur of passing tunnels and flickering station announcements, a five-minute plunge into the mundane that felt more alien than the battlecruiser or the Lizardman. When the doors hissed open, the soundscape and the atmosphere changed instantly. The tranquil, functional hum of the transit gave way to the vibrant, cacophonous symphony of commerce.
The Observation Deck was more than its namesake; it was a small city, a Boulevard under a vaulted ceiling of transparent plating, showing Tau Ceti Prime in all its shimmering glory. The walkway stretched out before us, a broad, pedestrian thoroughfare flanked on both sides by a dizzying array of storefronts. There was everything here. Holographic advertisements for gourmet hydroponic farms glimmered in the air. The rich smell of alien spices and roasting meat wafted from the crowded cantina. Gleaming chrome-and-glass storefronts displayed everything from intricately woven Nylard silk to the latest in personal plasma rifles. The sheer scale and density of it was staggering. It was the size of three or four shopping centres from my old life stitched together, but with a raw, chaotic energy.
I felt a dizzying surge of disorientation that had nothing to do with the artificial gravity. Marissa, as ever, was my anchor, quietly and patiently holding my arm to support me. She moved through the dense foot traffic with an effortless grave, like the eye of a storm, her presence was completely at odds with the controlled chaos around her. Her hair was measured, her path precise. She didn't have to nudge people aside; they simply seemed to move out of her way on impulse, if I didn't know any better I would've called it Silent Architect mental manipulation. Or maybe it was?
She came to a smooth stop beside a bench that races a particularly magnificent viewport of the planet below. "I have located them, Captain," she muttered, her voice nearly lost in the din.
My gaze followed her line of sight, I felt my heart pound in my chest like it wanted to escape. There were three of them, standing near a small vendor kiosk selling steaming cups of some dark, aromatic beverage. The one in the centre had to be him. Tiberius Lee, my maternal uncle. He was leaner than I'd pictured, with lines etched so deep around his eyes and mouth they looked like scars from long, sleepless nights. He wore a simple, well-worn jacket over a practical grey shirt, his hands shoved into his pockets as if he were trying to hold himself together. He was staring, not at the planet, not at the crowds, but at the entrance of the promenade we had just come through. His expression was a raw, painful mixture of hope and bone-deep dread. Beside him, a woman with kind, tired eyes and her dark brown hair, pulled back into a small bun, clutched a datapad against her chest. Her worry was palpable. Then, there was a younger woman, maybe in her early twenties, standing a little apart. She was a stark island of black in a sea of bright, galactic colours. Her hair was dyed a deep, jet black, her make-up a skillful, almost artistic collection of dark eyeshadows and deep, purple lipstick. Her arms were crossed, her posture a practiced slouch, an expression of profound boredom etched on her face. Yet, she kept looking to her parents and then back to the crowd, her soft, glimmering golden eyes missing nothing. This girl, whom I assumed was my younger cousin, her eyes were very similar to my sister's. Not this Noah, but the Noah of the 21st century. It was almost as if I was looking at a younger, goth version of my older sister from back then. It was… strange, but comforting.
It hit me then, in a way I couldn't quite name. I remembered the feeling I first felt when I walked through that hospital door and met my own nephew for the first time. It was a strange feeling, not quite happiness, not quite anger. A sense of reflective melancholy. The kind that would make you go: 'Oh… they're my family now'.
As if she sensed my hesitation through the crowd, my aunt found me. Her eyes widened. A strangled, choked gasp escaped her lips. Then, all pretence of composure shattered. The data clattered to the floor, forgotten. "Noah…" she whispered, the name spoken almost like a hopeful prayer. Then she was moving, pushing past her husband, stumbling through the crowds with a desperate clumsiness. Before I could even process what was happening, she was on me. Her arms wrapped around my chest, pulling me into a hug so fierce and desperate it almost knocked the wind out of me. She was sobbing, a raw, undignified, beautiful sound right into my collarbones. The smell of lavender and sorrow filled my senses.
My body's instincts took over. My arms, stiffly and slowly rose and wrapped around her, patting her back in an equally clumsy, awkward rhythm. "I… uh, I'm okay, I'm here," I stammered. "It's alright." I wasn't hugging my aunt; I was hugging a stranger's grief.
Over her shoulder, I could see Tiberius. He hadn't moved. He was frozen in place, a lone statue watching a miracle he couldn't yet bring himself to believe in. A single, solitary tear traced a path down a cheek that had forgotten how to cry. He watched us, his eyes fixed on me, and his jaw worked, as if he were fighting back a tsunami of emotions. A rough, painful cough rattled in his chest, a brittle, transparent attempt to hide the shattering that was happening inside him.
The hug held on for a few seconds more, a desperate clinging as if to confirm physically this was reality. That I was actually here. When she finally pulled back, my aunt -- whose name I learnt was Elaina Lee from the dossier Tama provided on the ship -- kept her hands on my arms, as if afraid I might vanish like a mirage. Her face was a mess of tears and smudged make-up, but her eyes were shining with an almost terrifying joy. "Oh, look at you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're so thin."
The weight of her unfiltered love from a woman who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, was overwhelming. I could feel a flush of heat creeping up my neck. My hands hovered awkwardly at my sides, unsure of how to respond.
"All right, Elaina, give the kid some space to breathe," Tiberius's voice was a rough, dry bark, but it was laced with a softness that undercut the gruffness. He stepped forward, placing a gentle but firm hand on his wife's shoulder. He pulled her back gently, creating a sliver of breathing room. He wasn't looking at her, though. His gaze was firmly locked on me with a deep, probing stare that seemed to be trying to peel away the years and layers of impossible circumstances to find the nephew he had lost.
Elaina reluctantly let go, dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand. The goth girl, their daughter -- Patricia Lee -- remained where she was, a solitary pillar of black against the station's vibrant chaos. She hadn't moved, but her focus had sharpened, her head tilted as she took in the entire scene with an unnerving, analytical intensity. Our eyes met briefly, but I yielded first, unsure of how to face her. She must've been a teenager when I went missing. Three years was a long time.
Tiberius cleared his throat, a hacking sound that was half-cough, half-suppressed emotion. He seemed to be trying to wrestle the moment back into a shape he could manage. "Look at you," he said again, echoing his wife but with a different texture. He gestured vaguely towards the crowded promenade. "This… this can't be how you imagined the reunion, kid. A crowd in a space station." He glanced past me at Marissa, a quick, assessing flick of the eyes. He took in her pristine white lab coat, her serene posture, her unnatural stillness. There wasn't any flicker of recognition, no surprise at her resemblance to anyone else he might've known; after all, he never met Aurora. He just saw the unknown, professional figure. His gaze returned to me, a question unspoken in the depths of his tired eyes. "I've got us a private room at a place down the promenade," he said, shifting his tone to something more practical. "You must be hungry. God knows the last thing you had probably tasted like compressed cardboard."
My mouth opened and closed, struggling to find the words. "I, yeah… they… the nutrient bars were…"
"I know, I know, son." A weak, weary smile touched his lips. "We can get some real food in you." He looked from me, to Marissa, and back again. "You can explain everything. All of it… once we sit down. And… you can introduce your friend there."